CHAPTER EIGHT
A scream tore through Etta's chest as she was carried through the camp. Pierre laid her down on the small pallet in her tent and another shock of pain jolted her.
Instinct had her pressing a hand to her side. It came away sticky with blood. Pushing her breath past her clenched teeth, she stared up at the ceiling. One. Two. Three.
Dammit, counting was no help.
She couldn't picture the moment Gray died. Everything after she was stabbed became a blur of motion. Maybe that was a mercy. She'd seen and done enough in the last couple days to haunt her for a lifetime.
This was not her. She'd spent her life training to be a protector. Not a killer. Maybe they were one and the same?
"Ahhh." She clutched the edges of the pallet, rocked by dizziness, as everything went fuzzy before
